Rooftop
by GoldfishThePowerful
Summary: After a nightmare, Benvolio seeks isolation on Verona's rooftops. He finds something much different. Very short bencutio one-shot.


Blood. That was most of what Benvolio remembered when he awoke. Blood was everywhere staining cobblestones, turning the dust to a black mud. There were hands reaching out to him. A growing weight upon his shoulders. Everything a blur of night and blood and chaos. The thing that shocked him awake was Mercutio's pain stricken face. His blond hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat or blood or a mixture of the two, he couldn't quite tell.  
He had awoken from another nightmare in a cold sweat. He tried to go back to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he couldn't remove the picture of Mercutio from his mind. It became increasingly clear that sleep was going to evade him tonight. This wasn't the first nightmare he had experienced lately. He would have even gotten used to the dreams if they didn't seem to get worse every time. And now Mercutio had found a way to infiltrate his sleep in addition to his waking thoughts. He knew whatever it was he felt for Mercutio was strictly forbidden by law, the punishment being even stricter. But Benvolio just had to be patient until it passed. He would wait.

Benvolio grabbed his book from under his bed, slipped out his window and tactfully dropped to the ground. He certainly wasn't going to sleep tonight, so he might as well get some reading done. His feet carried him down the road through a series of alleys and byways almost by reflex. Having walked this path so often at this hour, he barely needed to tell his feet what to do. He reached the wall overgrown with ivy and began his ascent. He scrambled onto the roof of the building and dangled his legs off the side. Then, he opened his book. It was a Latin book on astronomy. Latin was the first foreign language he learned, followed by French, and then a few scattered lessons in English. The last book he had finished was French poetry, a daunting read. He figured an easier book might be relaxing for a change. The book displayed the constatations that could be seen in the night sky, and the stories that explained them. He was in the middle of the story of Pegasus when the ivy on the wall rustled and tightened. Benvolio flinched and scrambled away from the vines to see who was aware of his hiding place: friend or foe. The first thing to peer over the eves was a mop of blond hair. Then a pair of bright eyes. Benvolio breathed a sigh of relief. Mercutio laughed his sparkling little laugh and sat himself next to Benvolio.

"Thy steps are soft, I might've thought thee a ghost" Benvolio half laughed.  
Mercutio shifted his weight and smirked. Benvolio knew this look too well. It usually meant that Mercutio had an idea, and when Mercutio had an idea, he spun it like yarn until it was just a golden thread of words.

"The ghosts which haunt Verona fly by night. They rise from wormy sod in graves and tombs, like wisps of smoke thus conjuréd by gods. From there they soar like hawks 'or hill and stream to places that their mortal persons knew. The ghosts of warriors go to bloodied fields to fight the battles where they met defeat. The spirits of old lovers visit bow'rs and corners where the dark taught them to kiss."

Benvolio wasn't listening anymore. He still heard Mercutio, but now he was letting the storyteller's words wash over him like a lullaby, savoring the shape of each sound. He laid down on the rooftop with the book open face down on his chest. He closed his eyes peacefully for the first time that night and listened as Mercutio's yarn thinned to silence. Benvolio couldn't help but laugh to himself. Then, he felt his book slowly lift off of his chest. He opened his eyes to find Mercutio leafing aimlessly through the yellowed pages of his book. Benvolio grabbed playfully at the book, which Mercutio held out of Benvolio's reach without much effort. Benvolio lunged for the book again, but Mercutio only lifted it higher and teased, "It will return when thou explain thy scoff."

Benvolio rolled his eyes. "I've never heard thee dry of words before. Now give it 'or" Benvolio took one more lunge at the book, setting him off balance. He felt himself slide down the roof. He certainly would have fallen if Mercutio hadn't grabbed him.

Around the waist.

Benvolio looked down to verify what he thought was so. Mercutio had his right arm snaked around Benvolio's waist and his other hand splayed on his chest, both clear as day. He felt so right in what must be the wrong spot. He must be not Benvolio at all, but a beautiful buxom Montague Maiden. He looked to Mercutio to receive the inevitable joke, but barely a sound escaped his gently parted lips. For the second time tonight, Mercutio was entirely speechless. Benvolio's breath caught as he felt Mercutio's hand pull inward, pulling him further onto the roof and closer to Mercutio. Mercutio's voice came to him a breathless whisper. "I wouldn't let thee fall." Oh fairest nightmare. Oh hellish dream. To be so close to the thing you mustn't have. Desire and reason fought a relentless battle within his head. Reason took a fatal blow when Benvolio looked into Mercutio's eyes and saw, yes, he was almost certain he saw longing. He had never seen it before in Mercutio, but the way his eyes darkened and the way his brow was knit made him sure of it. For a brief moment of pleasure, he surrendered. He was unsure of how much time had passed when sense was revived. At some points it was an eternity, at others a few moments. But when he could finally bring himself to pull his lips off of Mercutio's, he was out of breath. Still somewhat dazed by the encounter, Benvolio rose from his seat on the shingles and headed towards the vines peeking over the edge of the roof.

"No, please don't go." Called Mercutio. Reluctantly, Benvolio returned to his place on the roof. After a long silence, he asked, "What brought thee up to here."

Mercutio replied, "I saw thy darkened figure 'gainst the moon and thought I knew who would sit on this roof. So tell me coz, why art thou not in bed?"

Benvolio sighed and drew his knees closer to his chest "My bed, dear cousin, is a refuge not."

"Another dream?" Mercutio said knowingly.

Benvolio nodded "And this one worse than last."

Mercutio said softly, "Thou art not bound to recount it for me, but if-"

Benvolio interrupted him. "Thou wast dying. Thy blood stained all, and I-" Benvolio felt his hands begin to tremble, almost dropping his book. Mercutio placed his hands over Benvolio's, easing the book from his hands and placing it on the roof behind them. Then, he placed his arm around Benvolio's shoulder. Benvolio edged closer to Mercutio, feeling the warmth of his body easily seep through his thin nightshirt. Benvolio was surprisingly relaxed as he slipped his arms around Mercutio's waist. Benvolio felt a hand on the back of his head, guiding it to Mercutio's chest. Benvolio listened to the music of Mercutio's heart beating and felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Mercutio gave Benvolio a tender kiss on the forehead before whispering. "I'll always he here."


End file.
